


The Key to the Kingdom

by Luthien



Series: Disarmed [2]
Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Angst, M/M, Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2003-07-09
Updated: 2003-07-09
Packaged: 2017-10-14 19:27:21
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 17,499
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/152665
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Luthien/pseuds/Luthien
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Other issues require resolution in the wake of Voldemort's defeat. A sequel to Disarmed.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Key to the Kingdom

**Author's Note:**

> 1\. This story is set when Harry is an adult but was written in 2003, so it's obviously NOT canon compliant with the later books.
> 
> 2\. This story contains references to the death of a canon character, who died some time before the story starts.

Harry Potter muttered a quiet _Lumos_ and shut the door almost noiselessly behind him. He slumped against the closed door for a moment and rubbed his eyes. It had been a long night and he was cold and tired. All he wanted now was a warm bed - and a warm body to curl up against.

He looked around Snape's sitting room. The place almost seemed deserted, as though no one had disturbed it in years, but then this room always seemed like that when Harry was here alone. Whenever Snape was there he dominated the room, his intimidating presence filling every corner of the place and drawing the attention away from the Spartan furnishings and the drab grey stone of the floor and walls. Those stones leached most of the heat out of Snape's quarters; the absence of warmth was most noticeable at times like now, in the wee small hours in winter, when the fire had burned low and the stones had had time to steal the evening's warmth from the room. Harry shivered and clutched his heavy cloak more tightly about him. Snape must have retired to bed some time ago for the room to be as cold as it was.

Harry hoped the bedroom would prove to be more warm and welcoming than the sitting room; he wasn't entirely sure that it would be.

He made his way to the bathroom and got through the necessary ablutions as quickly as possible. He left the water running after he finished brushing his teeth, catching some of it in cupped hands and bringing it up quickly to douse his face. He gasped slightly as the freezing cold water touched his cheeks, and reflected, not for the first time, that Snape really didn't believe in indulging himself - or his guests - with what he obviously considered to be unnecessary luxuries like pre-heated water even in the depths of winter.

Harry grabbed a towel and quickly wiped the excess water from his hands then held it close against his face for a moment. The towel was soft and thick and not his own. He fancied he could just make out the scent of the last person to use the towel, though that was probably just wishful thinking.

He slung the towel back over the rack where he'd found it and headed for the bedroom. He paused in the act of turning the doorknob on the door between the bathroom and the bedchamber. Snape was a light sleeper. The use of any sort of magic in his immediate vicinity would wake him in an instant, which meant that Harry couldn't use even a simple _Lumos_ to light his way to bed. He didn't dare try to stumble about the room in search of the bed without being able to see where he was going, though - he could just imagine the Arctic tones in which Snape would demand to know just what he thought he was doing - which meant that he'd have to use a more primitive form of lighting. Cursing under his breath, Harry exited the bathroom via the door through which he'd entered and made his way back to the sitting room.

Beneath his robes, Harry's skin prickled with the cold. He'd left his cloak in the bathroom and he was already feeling the lack of it. It would be best if he could find the candles and get to bed before his extremities started going blue with cold. He cast a glance around the sparsely furnished room. It wouldn't take him long to search for Snape' cache of candles so he didn't bother going back to the bathroom for his cloak.

He was cursing under his breath about ridiculously secretive wizards who felt the need to hide essential household items for no good reason by the time he finally found a number of thin, yellowish candles in a small wooden box sitting at the far end of the second bottom shelf of the bookcase on the right hand side of the fireplace. His numb fingers closed clumsily around a candle, his knuckles brushing against those that lay beneath. And that was when he realised that the box only contained candles. There were no matches. He looked rather hopelessly at the space on the bookshelf where the candle box had been. Of course it was too much to expect that Snape would do something as obvious as keeping matches with his candles. Unless... Harry took a closer look at the shelf, letting out a small "Ah-ha!" a moment later as he pulled out the second, smaller box from the back of the shelf where it had been hidden behind the first.

Harry shook it gently and something rattled inside. He turned the box over in his hands. It looked entirely unremarkable, made of plain, unvarnished wood unembellished in any way. There was a small, metal catch on one side and Harry tried it perfunctorily, expecting to find it locked, but it sprang open and the lid lifted easily.

Of course, the box didn't have any matches in it. It was quite empty. Frowning, Harry closed the lid and shook the box again, and again it rattled. Setting it down on a nearby side table, he opened the box once more and took another look inside. He reached in and felt around, but his fingers touched nothing but the same plain wood as on the outside. There were no invisible objects in the box, no secret compartments. Nothing. Certainly no matches.

Just something Harry couldn't see or feel but which rattled when he shook the box again, with the lid open this time.

Weird. But somehow totally and completely typical of Snape.

Harry set the box down again, fumbling with the catch thanks to fingers starting to ache with the cold. What a waste of time this had been. Whatever the box contained, it wouldn't help Harry to light a candle. He'd have to do without light on his way to bed.

Sighing in resignation, he put the candle back with the others and returned both boxes to the shelf where he'd found them. As he left the room he raised his wand almost reflexively, before he opened his mouth to utter the word Nox. Instead, he laughed, short and sharp.

There was no danger of waking Snape through working magic out here. He was an idiot. He didn't need a match to light one of those candles. It was probably just as well that he hadn't been doing anything more important than attending a Christmas gathering with old friends that night; his mind was obviously not up to anything taxing, like rational thought. All in all, it was just as well that there was no way that Snape would ever learn of how Harry had spent the last few minutes.

Harry let out a deep breath and watched it dance in the frigid air in front of his face. Then he retrieved a candle from the box, lit it with a word, and left the room.

The bedchamber wasn't quite as chilly as the rest of Snape's rooms, but it was hardly warm and welcoming, either. Harry's single candle did little to dispel the gloom. He dispensed with his clothes as quickly as possible and approached the bed, only pausing to set the candle down on the bedside table before he drew back the covers and got into bed.

Snape was a large lump in the bed beside him, his dark head turned away from Harry. Harry snuffed out the candle, plunging the room into darkness. He crept closer, fitting his body against Snape's back, the position reminding him for a moment of the way they had been when he'd woken up in the hospital wing, more than two weeks earlier, except then it had been Snape who had been wrapped around Harry rather than the other way around. Snape had been clothed then, too. They both had. Harry was naked tonight, more out of foolhardy hope than anything else. It would have been wise to wear his warm flannel pyjamas to bed considering how cold the room was, but he'd been hoping that body heat would be enough to keep him warm. He loved the feel of another warm, naked body pressed up against his own; there was nothing quite like the feel of skin against skin. But Severus had worn his old flannel nightshirt to bed tonight. Harry had come to know it quite well in recent weeks. He wasn't even sure if it was just the one nightshirt or if Snape had a whole set of them, all somewhat worn and faded from many washings.

Harry draped one arm across Severus' chest and-

"Do you mind?" the Potions master's voice said in a freezing tone that entirely matched the temperature of the room.

Harry pulled away and moved back to his own side of the bed.

" _Lumos_ ," murmured Snape, and the room was permeated with a faint Wizarding light, not harsh enough to hurt eyes grown accustomed to near total darkness but just enough for Harry to make out the face of the man in the bed beside him.

"Sorry," muttered Harry, feeling like he was a student again - a student who'd just been caught doing something he shouldn't late at night by his most hated teacher.

"So you should be. Your hands feel like lumps of ice, even through my nightshirt. Is it completely unreasonable to expect that you could exert yourself enough to show even the most minimal consideration for others when you get into someone else's bed at thr- whatever unholy hour this might be?"

Harry bit back the retort that sprang to his lips. He looked down at his hands, which were clenching into fists, so hard that his fingernails dug into the palms.

"Believe it or not, I was trying not to disturb you," he said, in as neutral a tone as he could manage.

Snape snorted in obvious disbelief. "Perhaps that would be easier to believe if I hadn't been forced to listen to you clattering around out there for the last ten minutes or more."

Harry sighed and contemplated his hands a bit more. All his efforts had been for nothing. He should have just used the _Lumos_ spell and come straight from the bathroom in the first place.

He looked up, surprising an intense look he couldn't quite identify on Snape's face. Having spent most of the last year in close proximity with Snape in addition to all the years he'd spent as a student in Snape's potions classes, he was familiar with Snape's many habitual expressions, of course, and the vast majority of them had a certain intensity about them. This one was different, though. This one was new. Harry had no idea what that expression meant, but he definitely didn't like the look of it.

Harry shivered, suddenly aware again of how cold it was and that he was sitting up in bed, bare-chested where the covers had fallen away. He pulled the bedclothes up partway, then cast a glance back over at Snape.

Snape's eyes flicked to Harry's bare shoulders and then back to meet his gaze again, all the time with that odd expression still on his face.

Gathering courage and hope in about equal measure, Harry reached out and gently laid a hand on Snape's chest, letting his fingers trail an inch or two along Snape's flannel-covered sternum. He wished he could have been surprised when Snape flinched at the touch, jerking back as though it pained him. Before Harry had time to say anything, Snape had rolled onto his side, back turned to Harry, just as he'd been when Harry first entered the room.

If Harry had needed further confirmation that all of his efforts tonight had been for nothing, he'd just been given it.

Harry didn't hear Snape speak but he must have muttered a spell because Harry felt a whisper of magic and then he was left sitting in the dark once more. He tugged at the covers - most of which Snape seemed to have taken with him when he rolled away from Harry - managing to retrieve enough so that he had a more equitable share of them, and slid down into the bed. He lay on his back, with the heavy covers pulled right up to his chin, and looked up at the ceiling he couldn't see. He felt very, very cold, just as he had every night for more than two weeks now, ever since the morning after he'd returned from the final strike against Voldemort's forces.

Ever since the last time Severus had touched him willingly.

What had gone wrong? When he'd woken up in that hospital bed to find Snape wrapped securely around him Harry had thought that everything would finally be all right. He'd thought that now they would finally have a chance to really be together, and not just snatch what time they could between this or that emergency, or duty or responsibility. But something had happened between when Harry had woken up in Snape's arms for a few fleeting moments in the middle of the night and the next morning, when he'd woken up quite alone.

Harry wished he knew what that something was.

* * *

Harry woke the next morning, closed his eyes against the dim light which filled the room, and buried his cold nose as deeply as possible in the pillow beneath his head. In this position, he managed to ignore the advent of the new day for a good half an hour before growing hunger forced him to admit that he was going to have to get out of bed and face whatever challenges today was going to throw his way.

He arched his back and stretched, letting his head push the pillow back against the headboard. His foot shifted slightly and Harry drew in a sharp breath as he felt the coolness of the sheet against his bare skin. Away from the cocoon of warmth generated by his own body heat, the bed was cold as ice. There was no long, thin body beside him to warm the other half of the bed, and from the feel of the sheet it seemed that Harry had been alone in bed for some time. He wasn't surprised about that. It was hardly the first morning he'd woken up in Snape's bed - or his own - to find that Snape was nowhere to be seen. Snape was an habitual early riser. Harry often wondered how Snape managed it considering the late hours he kept most nights. In contrast, Harry himself seemed to be getting up later and later these days. The forces of darkness appeared to have a definite preference for working at night, usually the later the better, so that meant that that was mostly when Harry worked, too. The only recent exception had been the day of the final strike against Voldemort, when he'd Portkeyed straight from the headmaster's office in the middle of the day, right after saying goodbye to Dumbledore and Hermione. And Severus.

Harry closed his eyes and touched a finger to his lips, savouring another memory from that day. That had been a great goodbye kiss they'd shared, right there in the headmaster's study, with Hermione looking on, goggling almost.

Harry had been surprised about Hermione's response to the sight of them kissing, at least when he'd had leisure to think things over later and remember the look on her face. She'd been fine with the relationship between Harry and Snape almost from the first. Harry had been gratified about that; it was one less thing he had to deal with as the world slowly fell apart around them. It had been almost too easy. That should have warned him; nothing was ever really that easy. However, it was only that day in Dumbledore's study, just before Harry left for the final strike, when he had no time to worry about such matters any more, that Hermione had betrayed any discomfort with what Harry and Snape were to each other.

Harry had thought the matter over since and finally concluded that Hermione must have reconciled herself to the concept of the relationship between Harry and Snape but not the reality of it. It was exactly the sort of thing that she might do, given how fond she had always been of theories and ideas. Harry suspected that it wasn't even the thought of the physical side of things that made her uneasy; he was fairly sure that Hermione could cope with the concept that he and Snape fucked each other in the privacy of their own rooms. The idea that they might kiss as though they were real lovers, on the other hand, appeared to be something she wasn't quite ready to deal with. Until that day, she'd never been forced to confront any real evidence of the more intimate side of the relationship between Harry and Snape. They were usually discreet about such things - very, very discreet. Perhaps that had been a mistake, at least so far as their dealings with Hermione were concerned.

At odd moments since he'd got out of the hospital wing the day after his return, Harry had caught Hermione looking at him, well, _oddly_. He and Snape had barely exchanged a dozen words in public at any one time since then, but every time they did so much as acknowledge each other's existence when in the same room with her Harry could be sure, without even having to look, that faint colour would be touching Hermione's cheeks. Whenever he sought out her gaze at such times she would invariably look away. It was all getting quite tiresome. If not for the fact that he didn't want to get into a long and exhaustive conversation about his private troubles, Harry might have even been tempted to tell her that there was absolutely nothing presently going on between himself and Snape that could embarrass anyone. Their dealings were as cold and chaste as the highest stickler could wish for, even though they continued to share a bed every night. Harry wasn't sure how much longer that state of affairs would last, though. He wondered if maybe Snape was trying to give him a not so subtle hint to be gone. It was quite possible, though just the thought made Harry's gut clench painfully. On the other hand, all this hands off behaviour could turn out to have quite another cause. With Snape, you could never be sure one way or another about just about anything. He was a difficult bastard that way. And in every other way.

Harry sighed and reached for his glasses. The room beyond the bed came into focus and his eyes lit upon the pile of brightly coloured objects which had surely not been sitting on the dresser when he'd gone to bed the night before. Christmas presents. Today was Christmas Day. It had completely slipped his mind, a far cry from other Christmases he'd spent at Hogwarts, which he'd woken to with keen anticipation. He hadn't looked forward to Christmas much at all this year. Until two weeks ago he hadn't dared think as far ahead as Christmas, since it was entirely possible that he wouldn't live to see it. Then, after he had survived against the odds, there had been Snape's inexplicably distant behaviour to contend with. The party at Dean Thomas's house that Harry had attended the previous night had been the only vaguely Christmassy thing he had taken part in in the lead-up to the day itself, and Snape's cool reception when he'd returned afterwards had driven any thoughts of the party out of his head again almost immediately.

Harry threw back the covers, shivering as he got out of bed. He found some clean clothes of his own in the bottom drawer of Snape's dresser, where he'd taken to keeping a few spares, - it was a wonder Snape hadn't asked him to remove them - and dressed quickly. Finally armed against the cold, Harry turned to the pile of Christmas presents.

As he paused to decide which present he would open first, Harry found himself thinking back to the very first Christmas he'd spent at Hogwarts. He'd been so surprised to wake up and find that he'd actually received presents that year. It had been the best Christmas of his life up until that point. Each subsequent Christmas had proved to be even better - well, allowing for the somewhat trying experience of the Yule Ball in his fourth year - until Harry had reached the point where he'd more or less expected that each year's Christmas would somehow eclipse all of those that had gone before.

It was a stupid, childish expectation which he should have outgrown.

He picked up a large, lumpy parcel wrapped in shiny blue and gold paper. The annual Weasley jumper. This year's turned out to be green, just like the first one he'd ever received. Mrs Weasley had also included a good-sized Christmas cake and a quantity of homemade mince pies this year. She still seemed to think that he needed feeding up, even though no one would ever have a chance of going hungry at Hogwarts.

The next parcel was a bit smaller than the first, rectangular in shape, and wrapped in dark green paper trimmed with silver. Harry swallowed and his fingers slipped clumsily as he struggled to untie the ribbon. He succeeded only in knotting the bow so tightly that the ribbon cut into the paper at the edges. Cursing under his breath, Harry resorted to summoning a small knife from Snape's workroom. The wickedly sharp blade sliced through the ribbon in an instant, and the wrapping paper fell to the floor.

The present was a book, bound in red leather with gold lettering across the front. At least, that's what Harry thought it was at first. He read the title: 'A History of British Wizardry Volume 2: from Boadicea to Bede and Beyond'. Why on earth would anyone give such a gift to him? He opened the front cover, looked at the title page and didn't quite smile as he read the inscription written there. Despite its green and silver wrapping, the book wasn't from Snape. It also wasn't exactly a book. It was really a wizard safe, designed as a secure hiding place for valuables which could be kept in plain view; it was enchanted to assume any shape its owner desired, so that it could easily blend into its surroundings in the form of some innocuous household object. Harry had heard of such things but never actually seen one before. It was from Hermione. Of course. Harry took in the title of the 'book' again and slowly shook his head. Hermione was developing an odd sense of humour as she got older.

The next present Harry took from the pile proved to be from Dumbledore. This was hardly a surprise, given the almost blinding brilliance of the pink and green polka dot wrapping paper. At first he couldn't see anything after he opened it, and wondered if the present was invisible, but after a moment of gazing blankly at the mess of torn paper in front of him he realised that it was a pair of pink and green polka dot socks which exactly matched the wrapping paper.

Anyone else might have shaken their head at such a gift, but Harry stared at the socks, once again put in mind of his very first Christmas at Hogwarts. That had been when he had discovered the Mirror of Erised. Dumbledore had found him sitting in front of the mirror, watching the images of his dead family. Harry had asked Dumbledore what _he_ saw when he looked into the mirror. Dumbledore had replied that he saw socks: a man could never have too many socks. At the time, Harry had thought that the headmaster might not have been entirely truthful with him. Now, looking at his newest pair of socks on this Christmas morning so many years later, Harry had a better idea of what Dumbledore had been driving at, or hoped that he did.

Life was so much easier if your heart's desire was something attainable.

Harry finished unwrapping the rest of his presents. It didn't take him all that long as there weren't all that many of them. Before long he was left with a small pile of presents and a larger pile of torn coloured paper and ribbon.

None of the presents was from Severus.

Harry had bought Snape a Christmas present: a small, expensive pair of never-blunting silver scissors, just right for snipping some of the more delicate and rare plants used in potion-making, the perfect gift for the Potions master who had everything. Harry was glad that he'd forgotten to bring Snape's gift down with him last night. It didn't look as though they would be exchanging presents this year. Harry told himself he didn't care.

His stomach rumbled, and Harry glanced at the clock Snape kept on the bedside table, wondering how long it was until the Christmas feast commenced. His eyes widened. Had he really slept in so late? If the clock was right, the feast should have started five minutes ago. Everyone would be sitting there waiting for him. Grabbing his cloak from where it hung on the bedpost, Harry dashed from the room. He was going to be late.

Harry was one of the last - possibly the very last of all - to arrive in the Great Hall for the Christmas feast. He couldn't help but be struck by the brightness and warmth of the place as he stopped just outside the doors and looked on the scene beyond. The place looked much as it always had on Christmases past, right down to the snow that fell softly from the enchanted ceiling, disappearing into nothingness before it had a chance to touch the heads of the people seated below. Harry took in the sight of the House tables, arranged as usual in four long rows, and the high table beyond them, where the teachers and special guests sat.

As soon as he entered the room he felt as though all eyes were on him, and perhaps most of them were. But not for long. By the time he was halfway up the length of the Hall at least half of those present were alternating their attention between Harry and the only person in the place actively _not_ looking at him - Snape, of course. Harry noticed as he made his way to the far end of the Great Hall that all the tables were close to fully occupied. That, at least, made this Christmas different from others he'd spent at Hogwarts. That and one or two other things.

By the time Harry'd made it all the way to the high table on its dais and settled into the only vacant seat - the one right next to Snape, of course - all eyes were on both of them. Harry murmured a greeting as he sat down beside Severus, who somehow managed not to look at Harry at all while acknowledging his arrival with the slightest of nods. They were the epitome of discretion; they could hardly have attracted more attention than if they'd arrived together and hand in hand. Actually, they might have attracted less attention if they'd done so, provided they'd arrived early. Harry shifted uncomfortably in his chair, aware that far too many eyes seemed to be glued on him, avidly taking in his every move. What did they expect? That Harry and Severus would turn on an extravagant display of deep affection for the clamouring hordes? They'd never done so before, so why should they start now? It was sickening to realise how many people must believe the things they read in _the Daily Prophet._ Nothing had changed in their relationship - so far as anyone else was aware - except that it was no longer the open secret it had been. It wasn't any kind of secret now.

Harry looked around the room. A few witches and wizards had the grace to drop their eyes when he caught them staring. There were a lot more people present for Christmas this year than was usual - or had been usual in the days when Harry was a student at Hogwarts. The castle had become a haven for those who needed one during the darkest days of the war. Witches and wizards who were actively involved in the fight against Voldemort, like Harry, those who were being hunted by the enemy, and those who simply had nowhere else to go: all were welcome at Hogwarts. And of course there were a lot more students staying for Christmas these days, too, orphans of war who had no family to go home to during the festive season.

Harry finished his surveillance of the room and his eyes came to rest on the person sitting on his right.

"Merry Christmas, Harry," said Hermione, smiling.

Hermione had been present the previous evening at Dean's party, but for some reason seeing her in person still came as a slight shock to Harry. Their lives had gone down very different paths after they'd left school until the last few months when Hermione had returned to Hogwarts to take part in the war effort. Harry could think of very few people he'd rather have on his side in a tight situation, and perhaps her participation in the preparations had meant the difference between life and death for Harry at the end, but despite all that he still couldn't quite get used to her presence here at Hogwarts, especially now that he had come to realise that she wasn't entirely comfortable with one very important aspect of his life as it was now.

"Merry Christmas, Hermione. Thank you for a very... unexpected present."

"Did you like it?" Hermione asked eagerly.

"Of course," said Harry. "Once I realised what it was."

Hermione's smile turned into a mischievous grin. "I would have loved to have seen the look on your face when you first unwrapped it and saw that book cover."

Harry shook his head at her. "I think someone's been a bad influence on you. I just wish I could work out _who."_

__

Hermione's look turned enigmatic at that, but all she said was: "Thanks for _The Annotated Bibliography of Charms Treatises_. Fascinating stuff!" she said, without a trace of irony in her voice. "Unlike you, I really do appreciate receiving a good book for Christmas."

Harry decided he would have to get to the bottom of that look the next time he and Hermione had a chance to speak together somewhere a bit more private. Perhaps - just perhaps - she had found someone to take her mind off the memory of Ron, at least occasionally. Or at least on days other than Christmas, when the celebrations made it impossible not to think of so many other Christmases when Ron had been present. Harry had learned, over time, the trick of remembering Ron without quite thinking of him, of bringing the memory of his best friend to mind without opening himself to the full agony of Ron's loss. It was like a half-healed wound: the hurt was no longer raw, the intensity of the pain had subsided enough that awareness of it could be pushed to the back of the mind, but the wound could still easily open and start to bleed again if not treated with great care.

Particular care was required on days ripe with memories, like Christmas.

Harry turned his attention to the contents on the long table in front of him. The feast itself was much like those he remembered from his time as a student at Hogwarts. The tables groaned under plates loaded with turkey and roasted vegetables, platters overflowing with chipolatas, and tureens from which many interesting aromas emanated. There were also the usual piles of Christmas crackers up and down the table. There seemed to be a cracker of every imaginable colour in the pile closest to Harry: there was a forest green one, another in red currant rum red, still another of Slytherin silver, as well as sky blue, canary cream yellow, and a purple and orange cracker that reminded Harry forcibly of Dumbledore's favourite set of robes. There was even a black one. Harry considered the black cracker thoughtfully for a moment, shared a quick look with Hermione, and then they both sneaked a glance at Severus. Hermione's lips twitched.

"It might as well have his name on it," she whispered.

Harry had to agree with that. He stole another glance at Severus out of the corner of his eye. Snape had stabbed his fork through the middle of the large slice of turkey breast on his plate and was busily cutting the meat to shreds. This task appeared to take up all his attention. He might as well have been alone in the room for all the notice he took of those around him.

Harry picked up the black cracker and waved one end of it under Snape's nose. Snape looked up from his dinner and then turned his head in a slow, deliberate movement so that he was facing Harry, his eyebrows raised.

"Christmas cracker," Harry explained.

"Yes, I can see what it is," said Snape.

"Pull it with me," said Harry.

Snape's eyebrows rose even higher.

"And before you decide to refuse," Harry went on, "I'm warning you that I won't take no for an answer, and the longer this conversation goes on the larger an audience we'll end up with."

"Oh, very well then," Snape replied rather crossly.

"You can have the hat out of it," Harry offered. "It might even suit you - it's bound to be black."

Snape glared at him but still set down his knife and fork. He really didn't have much choice. He grasped the end of the cracker, which was once again being waved eagerly under his nose, and Harry pulled back on the other end. The cracker went off with a bang like a back-firing car, the noise making those occupants of the Great Hall who hadn't been staring surreptitiously at Harry and Snape look around in surprise. Once again, they were the centre of attention. Harry hastily applied a clean air charm to clear the cloud of black smoke which had exploded from the cracker and found that Snape was glaring at him again. After a couple of fraught moments in which Harry didn't say a word, Snape stopped glaring at Harry and turned his attention to the tabletop, where he glared at a tiny black dragon, only a couple of inches long, which was playing hopscotch on the tablecloth. Next to it sat a hat. It was indeed black, and quite small. It also had a quantity of netting attached to the front of it. Harry had a vague memory of a lady wearing a similar hat in an old photograph on Aunt Petunia's mantelpiece back in Privet Drive. Snape glared at the hat, too.

"Want to try again?" Harry asked, picking up the shiny red cracker from the pile, all the time knowing he was really pushing things to the edge but finding that a certain reckless part of him just couldn't resist, especially after the treatment he'd been subjected to lately. "Maybe this one will have a... more appropriate hat inside it."

Another glare was shot his way. "No," said Snape shortly, picking up his knife and fork and returning to the task of massacring his turkey.

"Hermione?" Harry turned to his friend. "Hat?" he asked, dangling the little black hat before her.

Hermione put the black hat on her head, arranging the netting carefully over her bushy hair, and then they pulled the red cracker. Once the cloud of smoke - green this time - had cleared, Harry discovered a straw boater sitting between his plate and the small black dragon, which was still playing hopscotch enthusiastically along the centre of the table. Harry stared at the hat and found himself confronting yet another memory, this one rather less pleasant than most of the others he'd been thinking about earlier.

A boater had been part of Dudley's school uniform.

Harry continued to look at the hat, but he didn't pick it up.

"Aren't you going to wear it?" That was Snape. Harry looked at him in surprise. He hadn't thought that Severus had allowed himself to notice that Harry and Hermione had pulled the red cracker, although even Snape at his most determined probably hadn't failed to notice the bang when the cracker had gone off.

"No," said Harry. "I'm not."

It was probably better not to tempt fate by trying a third cracker.

Snape didn't say anything else. Neither did Harry. The silence between them lengthened, while around them the noise of cheerful conversation and the clinking of plates and goblets got louder and louder.

"The turkey's good," Harry said at last, not wanting the silence to stretch out any further than it already had.

"You really expected the house elves of Hogwarts to produce anything less than good for the Christmas Feast?" Snape responded witheringly. His tone of voice hardly encouraged further conversation, but Harry decided to try anyway. After all, he was noted for his foolhardy courage; he'd read it in _the Daily Prophet_ , so it must be true.

"No. I... I thought later maybe we could..." Harry didn't quite know what to say. Whatever he said or did was bound to be the wrong thing. It almost didn't seem like it was worth the effort. He almost felt like ignoring Severus quite as thoroughly as Severus seemed to be determined to ignore him.

Almost, almost, almost.

Of course Harry wasn't going to give up without a fight. Anything that might result from standing up to Snape about the way he'd been acting lately couldn't be any worse than the continuation of all this cold, bloodless, not quite declared hostility with which Severus had been favouring him for the past couple of weeks. Harry didn't think he could stand it much longer, anyway. Perhaps challenging Severus about his recent behaviour would even make things better between them. Perhaps some real, hot-blooded anger was what they needed to clear the air, or at least make the situation clearer for Harry. Perhaps that was what Severus wanted, too. For all Snape's withdrawal, it was obvious to Harry that his cold, cutting comments were designed to rile. Snape had been spoiling for a fight for days, and Harry had been thwarting him at every turn. Perhaps it was time to cease thwarting and get this whatever it was out in the open. It was much easier to fight something when it was in plain sight before you rather than hidden beneath cryptic comments and incomprehensible sneers and the insurmountable barrier of nightclothes.

Snape was staring at him. "Should I continue to wait on the off-chance that you might finish that question, or do I have your permission to return to my meal?"

Harry's grip on his knife and fork tightened. Snape noticed the almost automatic response, and smiled thinly.

"I'd like to drop in and see you after the Feast," said Harry.

"My, my. My quarters are to be honoured with your presence during daylight hours. How... unexpected."

"Yes," said Harry evenly. "Would three o'clock be convenient for you?"

"Do I have any choice?"

"Just answer: yes or no."

"I don't have anything in particular planned for this afternoon. I can't stop you if you choose to visit." The smile had vanished from Snape's lips.

"And you'll be there?"

"Where else would I be?"

"I don't know. Will you be in your quarters at three this afternoon?"

"Yes," snapped Snape, apparently growing tired of the verbal jousting. He returned his attention to his plate. Less than five minutes later he rose from his seat and left the room without another word. More than a few heads turned to watch his departure.

Harry sat in silence for a little while after that, making his way through the mountain of food still on his plate, half-listening to the conversation about the night skies in the south of France which Hermione was having with Professor Sinistra. Eventually, they seemed to have said all that could be said on the subject, and the conversation petered out. Hermione turned to Harry and touched him lightly on the arm.

"Are you looking forward to the new year, Harry?" She asked, and immediately flushed slightly. "Stupid question, considering... everything."

"Of course," he said. "Of course I'm looking forward to it, I mean."

She looked as though she was about to say more, but then a deep voice boomed out from behind Harry: "Happy Christmas, Harry. Happy Christmas, Hermione," it said, and then an enormous hand clasped Harry's shoulder.

"Happy Christmas, Hagrid," Harry and Hermione said at the same time.

Hagrid collapsed into the chair that Snape had vacated - luckily, all the chairs in the Great Hall were enchanted to exactly fit the dimensions of anyone who sat in them - plonked an enormous golden goblet down on the table in front of him, and let his breath out in a loud whoosh. Harry did his best not to choke on the fumes. It was obvious that Hagrid was having an extremely merry Christmas this year. His face was very red and Harry wondered if he had been 'celebrating' prior to the feast.

"Are you enjoying the feast, Hagrid?" Hermione enquired.

"Ah, I think this year's feast is the best I r'member, not but what the Hogwarts Christmas feast has always been somethin', 'specially wi' Dumbledore as headmaster. Grea' man, Dumbledore," said Hagrid, helping himself to a top-up from the nearby wine jug.

Harry didn't quite know what to say to that, and when Hermione didn't respond either, Harry turned to look at her. She smiled sadly at him, eyes just a little too bright, and an answering sadness caught in Harry's chest. No matter how magnificent the feast, no Christmas could ever again quite match those of his schooldays.

He cleared his throat and looked down at his plate. Conversation buzzed around him, and quite abruptly Harry realised that he didn't want to be here at all. He wanted... There was so much that he wanted, so much that he couldn't have. He thought back to the socks he'd received from Dumbledore. An attainable heart's desire. Yeah. Right.

"Oh, he's jes beautiful," Hagrid said, and Harry glanced up.

Tears stood in Hagrid's eyes as he gazed, enraptured, at the sight of the tiny, hopscotch-obsessed dragon jumping around on the table.

"He came out of a Christmas cracker," Harry explained, summoning up a slight smile. "Would you like it, Hagrid?" he added on a sudden burst of inspiration.

"Don' he belong to anyone already?" Hagrid asked, plainly unable to believe that anyone could get such a thing out of a cracker and not want to keep it.

"I think he's been left behind," Harry said. "You take him, Hagrid."

The tears spilled over Hagrid's eyelids and leaked down his cheeks at the thought of the tiny toy dragon being abandoned to its fate in an uncertain world, and he gathered it up in one great hand. The little dragon looked about its change of scene in surprise for a moment and then resumed bouncing up and down. Harry could see its head popping up between Hagrid's fingers every few seconds.

Hagrid peered mistily down at the little dragon. "'He jus' makes my Christmas complete, he does," he said.

Hermione laughed gently. "I think you finally have just what you've always wanted, Hagrid."

"I'm lucky, Hermione," said Hagrid, an incongruously serious expression taking over his flushed face. "I've already got that. You, an' Harry an' Dumbledore an' all saw to it. I didn't rightly think I'd live ter see this day, yeh know. Nor ter have us all here, like this."

Hermione went still. Harry looked down at his plate again. He'd left most of the peas. And a lot of the turkey, and as for the chipolatas...

"Not quite all," he heard Hermione say.

"No, not quite all," Hagrid agreed. "I wish I could bring them all back. Sirius an' Cedric an' Ron, o' course, and further back to the firs' war. I wish I could bring back Harry's mum and dad for him. But I can't, and wishin' ain't never goin' ter bring them back."

He paused.

Harry focused on the contents of his plate.

"Bein' alive at the end of i' all to be thankful for wha' I've got, tha's somethin' I hardly dared hope for. Tha's my heart's desire, an' I've got it."

Harry glanced sharply at Hagrid as he said those last words, but Hagrid didn't seem aware that there might be any additional significance to what he'd said.

"Yes, you're quite right, Hagrid," said Hermione, sounding strained.

"There now, don' you be fergettin' tha'," said Hagrid, reaching behind Harry and awkwardly patting Hermione's shoulder.

Hermione gave him a tight little smile in response.

"Tha's the spirit!" Hagrid said, blinking away another tear. Then, reaching into one of the many pockets in his voluminous coat, he pulled out a large, spotted handkerchief and blew his nose so noisily that the little dragon in his other hand stopped jumping up and down and instead looked around nervously. Hagrid crooned reassurance to it and, after a moment of this - and when no more deafening sounds appeared to be forthcoming - it resumed its game of hopscotch. Looking at it, Harry was glad that Snape had not taken it home with him. Cute though it was, he thought that he could grow tired of a hyperactive toy dragon very, very quickly.

"Eh, time we were goin'," Hagrid said, and lumbered to his feet, taking great care not to drop the dragon in his hand as he did so. "You have a happy Christmas, the both of yeh," said Hagrid and, waving them a last goodbye as they wished him a happy Christmas in return, he turned and made his way down the length of the table and out of the Great Hall.

Harry leaned back in his chair and stared up at the ceiling. The magical snowfall was getting heavier. It was turning into a great, white frozen blanket hanging above them. Harry wondered if there would be a full scale blizzard raging up there by the time he got to the end of his Christmas pudding.

"So what are your plans for the new year?" Hermione asked.

Harry rocked forward on his chair, so that it was sitting steady on all four legs again. "No idea, apart from hunting down the odd dark creature when they need me to," he said. "I haven't thought about the future much for a long time. Not this sort of future, anyway." A future without Voldemort. He was relieved that Hermione would understand that without the need for him to state it baldly.

Hermione looked a bit surprised at his answer, and then shifted in her seat uncomfortably. "Nothing more personal than that? I thought that surely you would have some plans by now, at least for the new year."

It was Harry's turn to look surprised. "The new year? My plans haven't even made it as far as tomorrow yet."

"I just meant- Surely Professor Snape-" She broke off in confusion and looked away. The noises made by many people dining together in one enclosed space intruded into the break in their conversation for several long moments until Hermione looked back at Harry, biting her lip uncertainly. "Harry, I've made a decision about my future. Just today. It was quite a Christmas present, all things considered."

Harry just looked at her, wondering at the sharp turn the conversation had suddenly taken.

"Have you- have you met someone?" he asked, not sure how he would feel if she replied 'yes'."

"What?" Hermione blinked, then laughed. "No, nothing like that." She paused, then went on in a much more serious voice: "There's nothing - no one - special." She suddenly looked terribly sad and Harry swallowed hard against the lump in his own throat. He caught her hand under the table and squeezed it tightly.

Hermione seemed to take strength from that. She drew herself up in her chair and went on: "This morning Professor Dumbledore offered me a teaching post at Hogwarts, to commence at the beginning of the new term. I accepted."

Harry relaxed. "That's great, Hermione! Which subject are you going to be teaching?" The war had left several vacancies on the staff at Hogwarts. Like his memories of Ron, Harry tried not to dwell on such details too much or too often. "Not Divination?" he teased.

"No, not Divination," Hermione confirmed. "And not Charms, either."

"Then what are you going to be teaching?" asked Harry, surprised. "I can't see Dumbledore asking you to be Quidditch Coach, and all the other positions are taken, aren't they?"

"Harry, has Professor Snape said anything to you about this? About the future? About the school?"

"What's Severus got to do with it?" Harry asked, and then felt the colour rush to his cheeks even as he saw Hermione's matching blush. "Well, apart from the fact that he and I are, um, together, I mean."

Hermione fidgeted with the netting on her hat, as though distracted, but Harry knew better. He knew that look on her face. It was the one that took her over when she was uncertain about how to say something. Ron had used to joke that she looked as though she had found a book containing the answer to a particularly nasty homework question but had discovered that it was written in a language she didn't know and didn't have the faintest idea how to translate.

"I really thought you already knew or I wouldn't have accepted without discussing it with you first," Hermione said at last, sounding as uneasy as she looked.

"You don't have to discuss things with me before you make decisions, Hermione," said Harry, feeling totally at sea. "You haven't done that for years. Remember?" Just when he thought finally he had her worked out, Hermione had managed to confuse him once again, just as she had when they were students - and she hadn't even used any really long words this time, or that many of them, either.

"Perhaps I'm not the one who should have been discussing this with you, Harry," said Hermione, suddenly sounding annoyed, which only served to confuse Harry even more. She took a deep breath. "I'm going to be teaching Potions," she said.

Harry stared at her. He felt as though the ceiling had come crashing down on him and buried him in its cold whiteness. He felt as though he would never move or speak again.

"Harry! Are you all right? You've gone so white. Don't scare me. Say something. I'm sorry. I shouldn't have just come out with it like that, should I?" The words washed over Harry while a little voice in the corner of his mind calmly picked the words out of the wave and made some sort of sense of them: Hermione, scolding and worried. Familiar. She had hold of his hand and she was chafing it, forcing the blood through his veins, making him come back to life. And then the blood was thundering in his ears, matching the thumping of his heart in his chest and the pulse of the blood at his temple. He was full of heat. And anger.

"Harry?" Hermione was really sounding worried now, he noted vaguely.

The sharp scrape of chair legs across the floor impinged his awareness. He was standing, he realised, and people were staring. Hermione was staring, too. She was still sitting in the chair beside him, but she'd let go of his hand.

"Harry?" she asked again, this time in a near whisper.

"Sorry, Hermione," said Harry. "I've got to go. No time. I'll-" Words failed him.

He pushed past those still seated at the main table. His cloak caught on the back of McGonagall's chair and held him up briefly. A sharp tug dislodged it and the fabric made a satisfying ripping sound as he pulled away from the chair and from the concerned looks of too many pairs of eyes.

Harry flung open the side door - the same one through which he'd seen Snape enter and leave the Great Hall on so many occasions - and stormed out into the corridor. His cloak whirled behind him as he raced down the deserted hallways and sped around ill-lit corners. He wished he had his broomstick with him so that he could fly down to the dungeons; his feet couldn't get him there nearly fast enough. He kept his attention fixed on his feet, making sure they kept moving, finding his way mainly thanks to the sureness of memories forged while creeping around the castle in the dead of night on countless previous occasions.

He reached the entrance to the dungeons, raced down the stairs and around the final corner - and very nearly collided with the Potions master, who was in the act of shutting the door to his quarters and stepping out into the corridor. Harry skidded to a stop just short of Snape. He clutched at the wall for a moment, regaining his balance and catching his breath while Snape remained standing just in front of him, arms folded across his chest, and a less than pleased look on his face.

Really, Harry thought, Severus had no right at all to look as though Harry had somehow transformed back into a misbehaving schoolboy. No right. Snape was the one at fault here. He was. Not Harry.

"You're going! Why are you going?" Harry was so angry that he could barely get the words out.

Snape stiffened. "I don't believe that I am accountable to you for my actions," he said softly.

"You didn't think that just _perhaps_ it would have been polite to tell me?" Harry said, taking a step closer.

"Why on earth should I do that? I told you that I would be in my quarters at three o'clock this afternoon. What business is it of yours where I go or what I do until that time?" Snape drew himself up, taking full advantage of his superior height.

"I'm not talking about where you're going right now. I want to know why you've resigned without bothering to even mention it to me."

"Who told you that?" The question came as swift and deadly as a viper's strike.

"So it's true, then? You've resigned?" Harry pressed.

Snape drew a deep breath, as though about to make a blistering retort. Instead, he held it in for a moment, then expelled it harshly before moving back towards the door of his quarters. "I refuse to stand here brangling with you any further. I don't intend to provide a spectacle for any passing student to stop and gawp at."

"Good idea," said Harry, eyebrows drawing together in a fierce scowl which would have done Snape proud. "Let's continue this inside."

"I have a better idea: let's not continue this at all." Snape stood up straight, legs slightly apart and arms folded across his chest, blocking the entrance to his quarters.

"No!" said Harry, immediately wishing he could think of something cleverer and more forceful to say than that one simple, inadequate word. "You owe me an explanation."

"Owe?" hissed Snape, turning on him. "I owe you nothing. What promises did I ever make to you or you to me? None."

"You must have intended to tell me something, though. Or then again, maybe not," Harry said bitterly. "Were you planning to leave me to wake up one morning and find that you'd vanished without a trace?"

"I was planning to cease this _discussion_ and go inside. Alone," Snape said pointedly.

"I'm sorry, but I'm not going to let you do that," Harry replied.

"Try and stop me," snarled Snape.

"If necessary," said Harry, drawing himself up to his full height - which meant, admittedly, that his eyes came up level with Snape's chin, since the Potions master still topped him by several inches. "Although that's bound to draw the attention of anyone who happens to be around, and didn't you say you wanted to avoid making a spectacle?" The lines of Snape's face set in a thunderous scowl. Harry quickly continued, "I'm not going to let you go without an answer, Severus. Whatever it takes. So you might as well stop wasting time and just answer me."

"Yes!" Snape snapped.

"Yes what?" asked Harry.

"Yes, I've tendered my resignation. You've got your answer, now go." Snape whirled away from Harry in a billow of black, back towards the door.

"No," said Harry, following at his heels. "That's not a proper answer."

"It's the only one you're likely to get," said Snape, pushing open the door.

It was what Harry had been waiting for. He launched himself forward - much as he did in the closing moments of a Quidditch match when he made his grab for the Golden Snitch - and forced his way past Snape and into the room beyond before the other man had a chance to slam the door in his face.

"Get out," said Snape curtly from the doorway.

"No," said Harry, and sat down on the settee. "I won't go away until you've told me what's going on. I've let you _not_ talk to me and _not_ touch me for more than two weeks now and I've had en-"

"And that didn't give you a clue?" Snape drawled.

"It confused me more than anything," said Harry, trying his best to sound cool and unruffled. "You were-" He broke off in frustration. Snape couldn't _not_ know how suddenly his own behaviour had changed, so what was the point of trying to put it into words? He was sure that any attempt on his part to do so would only end up providing Snape with more verbal ammunition. He decided to take a different tack. "I should have said something sooner. I should have brought it up as soon as you started acting that way. But I thought if I gave you time you could work out whatever was on your mind and we could get back to the way we were before."

"The way we were before?" Snape repeated slowly. "How could we possibly go back to the way we were before?"

"What's changed?" Harry asked bluntly.

Snape stared at him. "What's changed? What do you think has changed?"

"You mean all the publicity?" Harry asked, flushing slightly. "I'm sorry about that, but it turned out that some of the students had already noticed a few things and when you spent the night with me in the hospital wing someone told _the Daily Prophet_ and then-"

"No, I did not mean that!"

"Fine," said Harry. "Then perhaps you could tell me what you _do_ mean, since we're here together and neither of us has anything better to do. I promise to leave once we've discussed this, if that's what you want."

"I want you to leave now!" said Snape, and with one swift flick of his wrist his wand was in his hand and pointed straight at Harry. "Go," he said through clenched teeth.

"No," said Harry, making no attempt to get up.

"Don't be a fool."

"You won't use that." Harry hoped he sounded more certain than he actually felt.

"Don't be so sure," said Snape, advancing slowly towards him.

"You won't," said Harry, "because you know I'd fight back, and there's not enough room in here for a proper duel. Half your stuff would get destroyed."

"Don't push your luck," growled Snape

"You promised to talk with me this afternoon," Harry pointed out. "So why not now? What's the matter? Afraid of a few simple questions?"

Harry could practically feel the surge of rage radiating off Snape before he turned away so suddenly that his cloak whirled about behind him. To Harry's surprise, he shut the door behind him, then crossed the room and seated himself in the armchair opposite Harry.

"Speak and get it over with," he said, glaring at Harry. "Unlike some people, I have work to do."

Harry was so surprised at Snape's sudden - apparent - capitulation that he didn't take any time to gather his thoughts. Instead, he blurted out the first question that came to mind: "So what did you mean when you said things had changed?"

Snape sat back in his chair, eyes never leaving Harry's. "You really are quite as dense as Longbottom at times, aren't you?"

"Could you just give me a straight answer?" Harry's left hand clenched so tightly on the arm of the settee that his knuckles hurt. With an effort, he loosened his grip.

"You know the answer."

"No, I don't."

"Yes, you do. You know better than anyone else in the Wizarding world what changed two weeks ago."

"You mean Voldemort?" Harry asked, genuinely surprised, and leaned forward in his seat. "Why should that make a difference?" He wished the words unsaid as soon as they left his mouth.

"Why should it make a difference?" mused Snape. He steepled his fingers beneath his chin and his lips drew back into an all too familiar sneer as he pretended to consider the question. "Let's see. You know, I really can't think of a thing, except, perhaps, that _his existence has ruled mine, one way or another, all my adult life._ "

"So you're free," said Harry slowly. "And the first thing you do is choose to leave?"

"Exactly!" Snape said. "I _choose_. It's _my choice_."

"I suppose you didn't really have much of a choice before, did you?" said Harry.

The look Snape gave him this time was frankly incredulous. "You honestly think that I would have chosen to live my life as it was if I'd had anything else from which to choose?"

The underlying barb struck home. But Harry had half-expected it. "So you never would have chosen to be a teacher in the first place if you'd had a better option at the time. Fine. I could have told you _that_ when I was still a student here. The question is: are you including me in the things in your life you wouldn't have chosen?"

Snape snorted. "Oh, of course I would have chosen to watch over the troublesome, ungrateful offspring of someone I disliked intensely when we were both schoolboys."

"Funny, I thought that's exactly what you did," Harry responded. "You chose to look out for me right from the beginning of my first year at Hogwarts as some sort of twisted payback to the memory of my father, didn't you? Apart from the fact that you were neck-deep in the fight against Voldemort long before you ever saw me, of course."

"You shouldn't believe everything you hear, Potter."

"No, I shouldn't, especially when you're the one saying it."

"Please on no account feel obliged to keep your opinions to yourself. Go ahead and tell me what you really think of me," Snape invited sarcastically.

"You'll say just about anything if you think it will get someone to do what you want them to, won't you?" Harry continued, undaunted. "Right now, you're saying that you're leaving the school because you never wanted to be a teacher, but you're implying more than that."

"I am not responsible for how you choose to interpret what I say."

"Am I right?"

"It's one interpretation."

Harry resisted the urge to reach over and strangle Snape. Instead, he got to his feet and stared down at the other man. "Is that what you meant?"

"I meant what I said," said Snape, slowly rising from his seat and matching Harry stare for stare.

"Tell me why you're leaving." Harry took a step closer.

"I have." Snape stood his ground.

"Tell me why you're leaving now," said Harry, taking another step towards Snape.

"I told you: because things have changed."

"Tell me!"

"Tell me how you found out that I'm going," Snape countered. "It's not meant to be common knowledge yet."

Harry remained silent.

"Who told you?" Snape asked again and closed the distance between them. He was standing near enough that Harry could see his nostrils flare and feel his breath hot against his cheek. It was suddenly hard to keep his mind on the argument and Harry quickly looked down at his feet, marshalling his thoughts and making himself concentrate on what he had to say.

He looked up defiantly at Snape. "Hermione told me," he said in as even a voice as he could manage. There was no reason not to say it.

The effect on Severus was quite gratifying. The expression on his face betrayed genuine surprise. "Miss Granger? Your friend, Miss Granger?" he said. And then the surprised look was gone again, carefully masked.

"She didn't tell me you were leaving. She just told me that she was going to be teaching Potions next term," Harry said, keeping both eyes carefully on Snape. Snape stared back at him. It would be so easy to reach out and touch him, Harry thought irrelevantly. Just one simple, tiny movement of his hand and he could feel Severus' skin against his own again. But that wouldn't help anything. Resolutely, he quashed the vagrant thought and made himself focus on the conversation again.

"So, why are you leaving?" he asked again.

"Because I can," Snape said through gritted teeth. "Didn't you ever stop to think about what would happen when the world was finally rid of Voldemort?"

"I thought I would be dead," said Harry quietly. It was a question to which he didn't even have to stop and think about the answer.

Snape flinched and pulled back. They stared at each other for a long moment, their breathing the only sound in the room. "So you haven't thought about the future at all since then?" Snape asked. "You haven't thought about the fact that you are now free to choose? That nothing is binding you to this place any more?"

"No, I hadn't thought about it," Harry said. "But you have." And that was the heart of it. All the time over the last weeks while Harry had been wondering what was going on with Snape, when he'd been wondering why Snape was refusing to let him close, when he'd been worrying about _the two of them_ , because _they_ mattered to him, all that time, Snape had been thinking about himself alone. All the time, Snape had been getting ready to- He'd been-

"Why didn't you just throw me out?" Harry asked. That was the question that had been niggling at the back of his mind ever since he'd realised that Snape was going to leave. The Snape he knew, or thought he had known all those years, had never been fond of passive aggression. As far as Snape was concerned, aggressive aggression had always been the only way to go. So why had Snape allowed the situation to continue? Why had he been hostile and sneering towards Harry for the past two weeks but continued to share a bed with him?

"Would it have achieved anything?" Snape said coolly. It wasn't much of an answer.

"We would have had this conversation a bit sooner, at least," said Harry. That wasn't much of an answer, either, but it was the best he could do right now. "So, why are you going?" he asked yet again.

"You mean you still don't get it?" Snape replied immediately. "Let me spell it out in simple terms that even a child might comprehend: I am going because I have no obligation to stay here. The choice is mine, to stay or go, and I choose to go."

Yes, aggressive aggression. That was Snape all right.

"And I don't get any say in this?"

"Of course you get a say. Haven't you listened to a word I've said?"

"It doesn't sound much like it to me. It sounds to me like you've made your decision and you're going to go and there's nothing anyone can do about it."

Snape made an impatient sound. "Not about my decisions. I'm talking about your own decisions. Don't you realise that you are now free to choose how you spend your life?"

"Of course I realise that."

"Then why haven't you done anything about it?"

"You might not have noticed, but I've been a little busy chasing after Death Eaters and Dark creatures lately. Just because Voldemort is gone doesn't mean there's nothing to worry about out there any more. He left behind a lot of cleaning up for us to do."

Snape made a dismissive gesture. "They don't need you to do that."

"Maybe not, but it's something that I _can_ do and it needs doing. Besides, I've nothing else to do."

"My point exactly. You should be making plans for the future."

"I suppose you should know about that sort of thing," Harry shot back. "Where are you going, anyway?"

"I thought we were discussing your future, not mine."

"No, actually this conversation was all about why you're leaving, if you remember. You still haven't given me a proper answer. I told you, I'm not leaving until I get one."

"I see. So the whole outcome hinges on what you deem to be a 'proper answer'." Snape's lip curled back.

"If you'd just stop diverting the conversation onto other subjects, maybe we'd get somewhere."

"Perhaps if you asked a more meaningful question you might receive a more satisfactory answer," Snape suggested sweetly.

Harry gave a disbelieving snort. "Yeah, right. Every time I've tried to ask a more specific question you either steer the conversation right away from the subject or else pretend to misunderstand me."

"Believe me, any misunderstanding on my part is quite genuine and not to be wondered at, given the incoherent manner in which you habitually express yourself."

"No," said Harry. "You keep answering different questions from the ones I ask you, or else you don't answer them at all. You know exactly what you're doing, and I'm getting tired of it. "

"You were the one who wanted this conversation. No one is forcing you to continue it."

Harry looked at him for a long moment. "I told you that I'm not leaving until I get a proper answer. A satisfactory answer." He paused. Whatever he said next was really going to matter. He had to get it right. "Would you have chosen to be with me, like this," - he made a broad gesture encompassing them both - "together, sleeping together, lovers-"

"I get the point."

"Let me finish: would you have chosen to be with me, as my lover, as we've been for nearly a year, if we both hadn't been stuck at Hogwarts?"

"Of course not," Snape said immediately.

Harry had been steeling himself for just such a reply, but the pain of it still lanced through him as though he hadn't been ready for it at all. He had to remind himself not to stop there, to ask the next question before Snape had a chance to win by default.

"Why?" Harry asked, his voice almost steady. "Is it because you'd never want me if you had a choice? Is that why you're going now? To look for someone new?"

Snape glared at him fiercely and did not answer - which was an answer in itself. Harry's chest felt heavy, like someone had knocked the wind out of him with a broomstick. This really was the end.

"Or is it because," Harry went on, staring rather blindly over Snape's shoulder, not really caring now but just following his train of thought to wherever it reached its natural conclusion, "Is it because you think that I'd never choose you if I had another choice?"

"Get out," Snape hissed.

Harry blinked and thought about what he'd just said. The pressure in his chest eased ever so slightly.

"That's it, isn't it? That's why you're going. You think I'm going to leave once I discover there's a world out there, don't you? So you want to leave me first."

"Don't be ridiculous," said Snape, but Harry didn't pay much heed to that. The idea was ridiculous. It made perfect, ridiculous sense. Finally, for the first time since the conversation had begun, he felt that he was on solid ground. Not only did he have the upper hand but he was also certain of just what was going on in Snape's mind.

"No, I'm right," said Harry. He had to be right. It was the only thing that had made sense in two whole weeks. "You think I'm going to leave and not come back."

"Get out," Snape said again.

"No," said Harry. "It's never been that simple, not for the two of us, even before I came back to Hogwarts. This last year... I felt it, and I was sure you felt it, too. The day they brought me back you stayed in bed with me, you held me all night. I didn't doubt then. I knew. And you knew, too. You did then, whatever you might say now. So what made you doubt, Severus?"

"Get out," whispered Snape.

"No," said Harry again. "Answer me."

"No," said Snape, and flung violently away from him. "Out. Get out. Now." He had his wand out again and it was aimed straight at Harry.

Harry looked at Snape and the wand, considering both for a moment, and then walked slowly across the room, not towards the door but in the opposite direction, towards Snape, never once taking his eyes off the wand in Snape's hand as he did so. He was well aware that he was taking a risk, but it was a calculated one. Harry knew that he had to be careful, but part of him wanted to cheer. At last, he was getting an honest answer.

"You want me to choose my future?" asked Harry as he came to a halt right in front of Snape. Snape stood silently before him, the hand with the wand in it fallen, apparently forgotten, to his side. "Then I choose this," said Harry, and kissed him.

The kiss was a little clumsy at first. Harry was nervous, despite the self-assurance with which he'd just told Severus what his choice was. It would still be just like Snape to pull away now, to throw it all away just for the sake of being contrary, just for the sake of not giving in. Just for the sake of not admitting anything. Harry pressed his mouth against Severus', and his heart nearly sank as he felt Severus' lips pressed together in a thin, unsmiling line against his own. Those lips were as unresponsive as the rest of Severus, standing so stiffly within the circle of Harry's arms.

Harry drew back slightly, then reached up and took Severus' jaw in one hand. He felt Severus' body tense even more, but he said and did nothing else in response. Harry traced the familiar shape of the jaw with his fingers, as he'd done so many times before. For a moment, he thought that Severus was going to bury his face against Harry's palm, but the moment passed and Snape remained impassive. The fierce expression in his eyes was the only visible sign of any reaction at all to what Harry was doing.

That much reaction was more than enough for Harry.

He moved closer, pushing his body up close against Severus', forcing Severus to feel him. He rubbed his own cheek against Severus', letting stubble meet stubble. He could almost feel Severus' heart beating wildly in his breast. He could hear his breath, strained with the effort of pretending calm. And he could smell him, the unique smell that spoke to Harry of long, sweaty nights and made his breath hitch and the rest of him ache with the memory.

Harry swallowed. "Please," he whispered against Severus' ear. "Please." And he sank his teeth gently into Severus' earlobe.

Harry was half-expecting a sharp reprimand for that last action, but instead it seemed to be the final drop that opened the floodgates. Suddenly, Severus' arms were tight around Harry, and Harry could feel every inch of him pressing against his own body. Every single inch. And Severus was making little noises as his lips travelled down Harry's neck. Harry gasped.

And then it was Severus' turn to take Harry's jaw in his hand. He wrenched Harry's head around so that Harry was staring up into his eyes, which looked even fiercer than before.

"Be sure," Severus said in a low, intense voice. "Be very sure."

"I've never been surer about anything," said Harry.

"Then God help us both."

And then they were kissing again, but doing it properly this time. No careful, coaxing kiss, this one. Harry was beyond attempting to hide how much he craved this physical closeness. His hands clung desperately to Severus' shoulders and a long, low moan of need built in his throat as the kiss grew hungrier. Severus seemed desperate for it, too. Harry's lips were going to be bruised. He didn't care. He just wanted to feel again. It was as though summer had come to this room while everything outside it remained cold and drab.

Harry was enveloped in warmth. And he was already hard. Sometimes all it took was to feel the slight curve of Severus' hip beneath his hand or Severus' breath warm against his neck and Harry would be hard and aching, ready in not much more than an instant.

He reached down, squeezing his hand between them. His fingers found Severus' trouser buttons, and he fumbled as he tried to undo the top one with only one hand. Severus pulled back, breathing hard as he pushed Harry's hand out of the way, and had the first three buttons undone in an instant. Eyes never leaving Harry's, Severus took Harry's hand and drew it to him, holding it in place for a moment pressed hard against his skin. There was a strange, haunted expression in his eyes as he did so. He took Harry's head in his hands, stroking down his cheeks and marking out the line of his jaw with feather light touches, feeling every single bit of his face, as though to make certain that it was indeed Harry - as though to reassure himself that Harry was real. Then he reached behind Harry's head, pulling Harry back up close against him.

"Touch me," he said.

Harry let out a shuddering breath and closed his eyes.

And then he touched him. He slid his hand down further until his palm touched wiry hair and soft, velvety skin. He wrapped his hand around Severus' erection, swallowing hard as his mouth went dry. So smooth, so hard. Severus' hips moved against him and the hard length pushed up into Harry's hand, an accompanying moan rumbling against his throat. The hand at the back of his neck moved down onto his shoulder, pushing him down towards the rug at their feet.

"Not here," Harry gasped. It was important that they do this in bed. They needed to banish the coldness and distance of the past two weeks. There would be time for rugs later.

Harry wasn't quite sure how they made it to the bedroom. They didn't really stop to disentangle themselves, or stop kissing, and yet somehow they got there. They toppled sideways onto the bed, mouths still locked together in a devouring kiss. Severus' hands snaked beneath Harry's jumper and shirt and roamed up and down Harry's skin in deliberate circular movements, leaving paths of warmth behind them. Harry clutched at Severus in frustration, wanting to touch Severus' skin in turn, not just the place where his hand still stroked and squeezed, but all the rest as well, but he was thwarted by robes and waistcoat before he ever had a chance to get as far as the shirt. Harry wanted to rip the clothes off Severus, couldn't wait to get down to his skin, but even through the layers of clothes, Harry could feel the heat of Severus beneath his hands. He rolled on top of Severus, pushing the other man onto his back to that he was sprawled out beneath Harry. Harry pushed back Severus' robes then reached for his trousers, making short work of the remaining buttons before pulling the trousers down so that Severus' bare skin was revealed before him. Harry gazed down, aware that he was smiling but not really able to stop it. He slid his hands over all that warm, beautiful skin. Severus' body was long and warm and familiar, with hard, firm angles and curves in all the right places.

Harry rested his head against Severus' bare thigh. He breathed in the strong scent of him as he took Severus' cock in his mouth and buried his nose against the smooth, sweat-slicked skin. He grasped Severus' hips, loving the slight curve beneath his hands, familiar and beloved and wanted and missed so badly for too long. Severus pushed up hard into Harry's mouth and Harry moved lips and tongue against him, savouring it, loving it. Severus moaned, and clutched at Harry's hair - and then he was gasping and shuddering against Harry as he came, suddenly and violently, before Harry had a chance to do much more than touch him.

Harry swallowed. He hadn't been ready for that and he'd never liked the taste overmuch, and yet he felt hugely pleased as well. And amazed.

He rolled away, moving up beside Severus until they were face to face. He smiled. Severus would not meet his eyes. Harry gently turned Severus' face so that he had no choice but to look at Harry. Harry didn't say anything but simply kissed him. The kiss started out slow, almost lazy, but as it went on Harry became aware of Severus' long body beside him, of how much he still wanted it. Before long, he was rubbing his hard, aching cock against Severus' thigh - and that was when Severus pulled away from him.

"We may have started this much like two desperate, uncontrolled teenagers, but we may as well make the attempt to at least finish properly," said Severus. "Sit up."

Harry gave him a questioning look - which Severus ignored - and sat up. Severus wasted no time. He reached over and tugged at Harry's jumper, pulling it off over his head so quickly that Harry cried out in protest as it got stuck around his neck on the way. Severus didn't apologise, but pushed Harry back down on the bed and immediately started on Harry's shirt buttons. Any protests Harry might have been about to voice died on his lips as Severus' long, clever fingers undid each button in turn - and his warm, wet mouth greeted each new expanse of skin with a kiss as it was revealed before him, button by button. At the third button, Severus' tongue flicked across Harry's right nipple instead of his bared skin. Harry gasped, and his cock pushed up hard against his jeans, demanding some direct attention of its own.

Harry stood up, practically ripping off his shirt in his haste - only then realising that he's lost his glasses somewhere along the way - and kicked off his shoes and socks before stripping off his jeans. He turned to face Severus, who was pulling off his own shirt. A moment later, they faced one another across the bed, both quite naked for the first time in weeks. They looked at each other almost gravely for a moment. They had come so close to losing everything today; Harry still half-expected to wake up and find that he was dreaming all this. But then he looked across at Severus, who was staring at him avidly, checking out every inch of him - and Harry wondered why they were just standing there when there were better things they could be doing.

Severus must have been thinking something very similar because a moment later they were on the bed again, pushing hard together, skin against skin at last, while mouths found each other again and hands explored, stroking and squeezing and refamiliarising themselves. Harry found himself on top somehow, his erection pushing up hard against Severus' belly, wanting and needing as much as all the rest of him wanted and needed Severus. Harry slid down a bit so that his hips were cradled between Severus'. He sighed gently, enjoying the firm, comforting grip of his lover's body. At that, Severus made a sound deep in his throat and his hand came down to find Harry's cock. Then it was Harry's turn to make some noises of his own.

Severus' hand started moving against his cock, and Harry pushed into the movement, enjoying it, needing it, even though it wasn't quite what he wanted. Even though it wasn't quite enough. Severus' grip was warm and slippery and Harry wasn't completely surprised when he felt the cool, hard shape of a familiar glass container touch his hand.

He pulled out of Severus' embrace, his hands trembling slightly and making it difficult to open the jar as a sudden, dreadful eagerness gripped him at the thought of what he was about to do. It didn't take long to stroke his way up and into his lover with the warm, viscous stuff from the jar. He was positively shaking by the time he'd finished, and Severus was making more of those little noises in his throat, which didn't help in the least.

He moved back between Severus' thighs, loving being like this but desperately needing more. But he had to take it slowly, had to do it right.

Harry thrust into Severus, so eager but trying to be slow and gentle. But Snape, it appeared, was having none of that. He tilted his hips and wrapped his legs around Harry, forcing Harry to push in harder and faster than he'd intended. And it felt good. So good. So exactly what he'd wanted. So exactly what he needed now. To feel close. To reach a place where words didn't matter. Somewhere where you didn't have to worry about nuances and hidden meanings but where everything was perfectly clear. A place where you could just push in and the heat surrounded you and it was close and good and he was moving too hard and too fast and it was the best thing in the world and Severus was making him move even faster and he wouldn't stop - couldn't stop - and then he caught sight of the expression on his lover's face. Severus looked abandoned, lost in the moment, and so was Harry and it was hard and wonderful and just short of violent and he loved- he loved-

Harry came. And came and came and came. He was beyond vision, beyond sound, almost beyond self. Beyond everything but Severus.

And then he was beyond thought.

"...all right? Are you all right?"

Severus' voice. Tight with worry. With effort, Harry lifted his head and looked into the face of his lover. His lover. Yes, there could be no doubt now that that was what Severus was. There could be no denial. Those eyes, as black and bottomless as the first time he'd seen them, but not empty any more. There was a worried look in those eyes. Concern for Harry. And more. The truth was all there, naked and revealed for the first time, for Harry alone to read. Harry felt a peculiar, sharp pain at the sight, and closed his eyes again.

"Harry?" Severus' voice was low.

Harry opened his eyes. "I missed you," he said thickly. He pressed a kiss against Severus' throat and Severus' arms tightened around him.

"I thought that you had died," Severus said. He closed his eyes at the memory and pulled Harry even tighter against him, one hand straying up to stroke Harry's hair.

"I'm here! I'm here!" Harry muttered into his shoulder, then gave up trying to reassure with words and pressed lips against Severus' chest. The skin tasted damp and salty and real. He kissed his way up Severus' breastbone, feeling the other man gradually relax his death grip on him as he did so. He planted a hard kiss at the base of Severus' throat and both felt and heard the sigh in response. He wriggled slightly, and Severus relaxed his grip a bit more so that Harry could slide up close enough for a proper kiss.

"I'm here," said Harry against Severus' lips. A proper kiss. Long and gentle. A pause for breath. Another kiss, longer and not so gentle. Severus' mouth moved beneath his own and Harry felt the faint beginnings of stubble against his tongue. He could taste Severus and smell him, his own scent of nothing in particular and like nothing else in the world. Harry made a small sound of pleasure deep in his throat. Severus' hands came up to frame Harry's face, holding him there as they kissed, and kissed some more. Finally, Harry's elbows started to give out, and he pulled himself up on his hands.

"Can't stay like that any more," he explained as he flopped down on his back. Severus curled around him, head resting against Harry's shoulder, reminding Harry of one of their customary sleeping positions before... before. He was assailed by a flash of memory, of waking up in a strange bed, Severus there, beside him, telling him everything was all right, holding him, like this, and Harry going back to sleep, believing it - but when he woke up, everything had changed.

Suddenly, it was vitally urgent to ensure that that didn't happen again.

He must have tensed up at that thought because he felt Severus' arms draw tighter around him again.

"It's nothing," Harry said, pulling away ever so slightly. It would be more useful all round if Severus would remember that he, Harry, needed to breathe on a regular basis. Still, that reaction suggested that Severus wasn't intending to let Harry go off anywhere without him if he had any say in the matter. Harry turned his head sideways on the pillow to look over at Severus, and smiled.

"Merry Christmas," he said on impulse. They hadn't even managed as much as that simple greeting in the course of all the words they had exchanged today.

"Merry Christmas," Severus replied gravely. He looked at Harry, unblinking, for a long, drawn out moment, so long that Harry started blinking in sympathy. "Wait here," said Severus, apparently coming to a decision about something, and got out of bed. He didn't bother to put on any clothes before leaving the room, not even so much as his dressing-gown, so Harry was fairly sure that he wasn't going far, not if he didn't want any of his extremities to freeze off, anyway. Although, now that Harry stopped to think about it, the room wasn't nearly as chilly as it had been this morning, and not remotely as cold as it had been when he'd come to bed last night.

A moment later, Severus re-entered the room, a box clutched tightly in one hand. Harry sat up as Severus sat down on the bed beside him, one hand rubbing his chin briefly in a gesture which in another person Harry might have thought betrayed a certain nervousness. Severus held out the box to Harry.

"Merry Christmas," Severus said again, and thrust the box into Harry's hands.

It was the box that Harry had discovered on the bookshelf behind the candles when he'd been hunting around for matches the night before. It looked exactly the same as it had last time Harry had looked at it. Harry was sure that if he were to shake it now it would rattle as it had before, and that if he were to look inside he'd find it quite empty.

" _Revelatus_ ," murmured Severus, and the box shimmered and shrank before Harry's eyes, becoming shorter and flatter and turning into an altogether different sort of box, one with a metal clasp on the front holding down a hinged lid.

"It's one of those wizarding safes!" Harry exclaimed. "Hermione gave me one for Christmas!" He glanced at Severus, suddenly aware that that might not have been the most diplomatic reaction he could have given to Severus' gift.

But Severus appeared unruffled. "No, it's not a wizarding safe. It's a little more... sophisticated than that, though the basic principle upon which it operates is the same." He glanced sideways at Harry. "Your present is inside."

"Oh," said Harry, and took another look at the box.

The box was shallow and rectangular and not very large at all. It reminded Harry of the gifts Uncle Vernon would invariably present to Aunt Petunia each Christmas and birthday. Uncle Vernon always got his wife jewellery and it always came in boxes similar to this one, or smaller. For one wild moment Harry wondered if he would open the box to discover a string of cultured pearls inside. That thought fled when he eased off the lid and looked into the box. All he could see were feathers; owl feathers, from lots of different owls if the colours were anything to go by. Harry looked up from the box, frowning at Severus.

"I don't understand," he said. "Feathers?"

"Reach inside," said Severus, with the barest hint of exasperation.

Harry hesitated.

"Go on. It won't bite."

The corners of Harry's mouth quirked up slightly at that. Even now, Severus wasn't letting any undue patience get in the way of his natural irritability. There was something remarkably reassuring about that.

Harry reached into the box and felt about with his fingertips. The owl feathers were soft to the touch, as expected. He didn't know what- Wait a minute. There was something hard and lumpy beneath the feathers at the bottom of the box. Harry closed his fingers around the object and took it out, his hand emerging from the box in a small cloud of feathers. Severus watched wordlessly as the feathers slowly floated down to settle on the bedcovers, and on the rug at his feet, and all over the small pile of books stacked neatly on the bedside table.

Harry looked at the object lying flat on his palm. It was an old and astonishingly ugly key. It was so tarnished that it was impossible to tell what its true colour was, but Harry was fairly sure that it was made of brass. It was certainly about the right weight, for one thing. He turned it over in his hand. It was long and ended in an overly ornate design of a coiling snake sitting in what looked like a bed of thorns. As Harry watched, the snake's tongue flickered once and then was still.

"It's a key," said Harry.

"Yes."

"What's it for?"

"For? It's for Christmas, for you." Severus' voice took on a familiar edge, the one he used when at his wits' end with an impossibly stupid class. The one he used when he was trying not to let his emotions get the better of him.

Harry looked at him curiously. "You know what I'm asking. Why are you giving it to me? What is the key _for_?"

"What is a key usually for?"

"For opening something," Harry said slowly, wondering where on earth this was all leading - and how long it would take him to get to the bottom of it with Severus getting more maddeningly uncommunicative by the second.

Severus just looked at him.

"Or for locking something," Harry continued.

Severus stared at him a bit more. Harry stared back, still not sure exactly what Severus was getting at.

"So am I allowed to know what this key opens - or locks?" he asked.

Severus looked away at that, and Harry really started to worry about just what was going on here.

"A key-holder has certain responsibilities," Severus said just as Harry was at the point of giving up on receiving a reply. "Especially in a place of great and ancient magic such as Hogwarts." He paused.

"So this is the key to something in Hogwarts?" No great surprise there, but given Severus' increasingly odd manner it seemed that this was more than just the key to, say, his stores cupboard. Of course, Severus would probably view the key to his private stores as about as important as the key to the front door of Hogwarts, if it had one, so maybe Harry wasn't so far off the mark there. Then something else occurred to him. "I thought Hagrid was the Keeper of the Keys?"

"He is," said Severus, "but each head of house is also a holder of keys, a guardian of a particular part of the castle."

"So this key...?" Harry prompted, at last getting an inkling of where this might be heading.

"It is the key to the dungeons," Severus said at last.

"So you're giving me the key to the dungeons," said Harry, wanting to make quite sure.

"The spare key, actually."

"Why?" asked Harry.

" _Why_?" Severus' voice turned sharp and he shifted around to properly face Harry. "Why do you think? Or are you already regretting your choice?"

"No," said Harry, beginning to feel annoyed. "I'm just wondering how my choice fits in with yours. You haven't said anything about that. Giving me this key would have meant a lot if you were going to be staying at Hogwarts, but you're going to be gone very soon. So what does it mean? That I'm important while you're at Hogwarts? That's what, about a week?" He turned his head away, not wanting to have to look at Severus for the moment. He hadn't meant for that to come out as sharply as it had, but suddenly things seemed much less certain than they had only moments ago.

Severus shifted on the bed, but didn't say anything. As the silence lengthened, Harry began to feel slightly ridiculous. Here he was, sitting naked and sticky on tumbled sheets after reconciling in the best possible way with his lover, but no longer relaxed and happy. Oh no. Instead, he was refusing to look at the man, who was, in turn, refusing to speak to him. If it wasn't so serious it might be comical.

Severus cleared his throat.

Harry cast him a glance.

"I wasn't entirely truthful with you earlier," Severus admitted.

"Oh?" Harry asked carefully.

"I told you that I had tendered my resignation. What I did not mention was that the headmaster refused to accept it."

Harry turned back to look at Severus properly. "So why is Hermione teaching Potions next term?"

"As I told you, I was unaware that the headmaster had offered the position to her, however I apprehend that she will be teaching in my place while I am away."

Harry folded his arms and kept looking at Severus.

"Starting next week, I am planning to take a long overdue leave of absence until the beginning of the new school year next September," Severus explained.

Harry thought that over for a moment. "So now will you tell me where you're going?" he asked, the beginnings of a smile tugging at the corner of his mouth.

Severus looked down at his hands and said nothing.

Harry didn't say anything, either, feeling that Severus owed him a proper answer, but after a moment he couldn't hold back any more and he started to laugh. "You don't know where you're going, do you?"

Severus looked up. "I have yet to decide upon a destination," he said, not quite managing to sound affronted.

Harry threw him a mischievous grin and took Severus' hand in his, rubbing the palm gently with his thumb. Severus' breathing deepened noticeably.

"Do you think maybe that's something that we could work out together?" Harry asked.

"I should think so," Severus agreed, and moved up the bed beside Harry. "I should- I should like that."

Sometimes, Harry decided, kissing Severus was the easiest thing in the world.

Neither of them said anything more for quite some time after that.

* * *

**Epilogue**

It was cold down in the dungeons, Hermione thought. It always was; it had been when she was a student at Hogwarts and it still was now that she'd returned as a teacher. It was as though no amount of light or warmth could ever quite penetrate the dungeons properly, even in summer. Now, in the depths of winter, it was so cold down here that she was half-surprised not to find icicles hanging from the ceiling. She supposed she would have to get used to it once she started teaching in the Potions classroom. She wondered if maybe Professor Dumbledore would consent to moving the Potions classes out of the dungeons for the duration of her stay - however long that turned out to be. Professor Dumbledore had been a little vague - apologetic, but vague - about how long the position of Potions teacher was likely to need filling.

Hermione glanced down towards the door to the current incumbent's quarters. She wondered if Harry was still in there. It didn't seem likely. She thought it would have been all over fairly quickly if the look on his face when he'd stormed out of the Great Hall was anything to go by. He'd probably flown off on his broomstick afterwards and put as much distance between himself and Hogwarts as possible.

Harry would be unhappy, she was sure - break-ups were always messy - but in the end he would come to realise it was all for the best. How he could ever have come to have been involved with Snape in the first place... Of course, she'd never said anything to his face while they were together, but now that it was over she would be able to tell Harry about all her previous misgivings. She would be able to tell him in time, anyway, once he got over the initial hurt. She would be able to tell him many things, then. She would have her friend back.

She had missed him while they'd been apart, especially after they'd lost Ron. When she'd come back to Hogwarts at Professor Dumbledore's request to help with the war, she'd thought that she and Harry could be two bereaved friends together. Two bereaved, _unattached_ friends together. But she hadn't reckoned on Snape and the place he held in Harry's life.

She'd really missed Harry since she'd come back to Hogwarts. He was there, but removed from her and not quite there for her in the way she'd expected him to be. So she missed him, even while she was in his presence. Most of all, though, she'd missed him today, after he'd left the feast. She'd never felt so alone at Hogwarts as she had tonight, which was why she'd ended up roaming the corridors aimlessly. She'd set out from her rooms without any fixed destination in mind, but she wasn't really surprised that her feet had led her down here in the end. She needed to know what had happened to Harry.

Hermione wondered how Snape was feeling. She hoped Harry had given as good as he got. And she hoped she wouldn't see Snape again before he left, though that probably couldn't be avoided if she was going to be taking over his classes.

Suddenly, the door to Snape's quarters opened, and Hermione automatically stepped back into the shadows, behind a suit of armour. Snape stepped out into the corridor, closely followed by Harry. They appeared to be engaged in a heated discussion. Hermione bit her lip to stop herself gasping in surprise.

"-Jamaica! They've got a _brilliant_ Quidditch side!" Harry was saying.

"I was thinking more along the lines of the Hindu Kush," Snape said coolly.

"It doesn't sound like much fun," Harry pointed out as they started to walk off in the opposite direction from Hermione's hiding place.

"I wasn't intending this trip to be fun," Snape replied.

"Yes, but now _I'm_ going, too!"

"Yes, you are," said Snape, stopping and facing Harry. The look he sent Harry's way was far from cool. Very far indeed.

Harry smiled at him, a warm, lazy, _happy_ smile.

And Hermione knew then that she would never get to say all those things she longed to say to Harry. But she remembered that smile she'd just seen on Harry's face, so different from the sadness and weariness that she'd seen there for far too long, and, as she watched them walk away together, she tried to be glad.


End file.
